P s 
 
 D5Zt5 
 
 THE 
 
 CAMEO SHELL 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 JAMES NORTH 
 
Class ^SdSAX 
 Book ^(S^BC^i 
 
 Copyri 
 
 ,10 
 
 ./ T/ J 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
THE 
 
 CAMEO SHELL 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 DR. JAMES IsTORTH 
 
 Author of 
 
 " Poems on Shakespeare " 
 
 "Atlantic City in Picture and Poem ' 
 
 "The Mischief Love Hath Done 
 
 and Other Poems" 
 
 SELECTED BY 
 
 CORA iMARGUERITE NORTH 
 
 1911 
 

 
 Copyright, by 
 
 Dr. James North, 
 
 1911 
 
 All Rights Reserved. 
 
 ©Ci.A2h6302 
 
INSCRIBED 
 
 To J. ADDISON Joy, M.D. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 The Cameo Shell 7 
 
 Cathedral of Milan 8 
 
 The Steeds of Apollo 9 
 
 If ? 10 
 
 Through a Window 11 
 
 Arise, My Love 12 
 
 Ghosts 13 
 
 The Dryad 15 
 
 The Cherry Trees 16 
 
 The Arno 18 
 
 Thy Kiss 19 
 
 The Dancer 20 
 
 To Helen op Troy 22 
 
 Autumn Days 23 
 
 Bay of Naples 25 
 
 Philomel 27 
 
 The Fair Jehane 29 
 
 Isadora, — Isabella , 3^ 
 
 The Faun 33 
 
 Among My Books 35 
 
 The Nautch Girl 37 
 
 The Kings op Munster 39 
 
 Tempest and Calm 41 
 
 Off Circe's Isle 44 
 
 Kismet 47 
 
 The Court of Alhamar 50 
 
 The Sirens S3 
 
 5 
 
THE CAMEO SHELL. 
 
 First cast upon the shore from tropic seas; 
 By homesick sailor to his loved one brought, 
 Still ringing with its inborn melodies; 
 The pearly splendor of its surface caught 
 The eyes of one who loved it for itself, 
 And treasured it as miser hoards his pelf, 
 Till Death should play the liberator's part. 
 Then sold again, it came unto the mart 
 And young Cellini saw the rosy shell. 
 Where trembled hues of pearl and asphodel. 
 By cunning hand beneath his graver grew 
 The tragic scene of mad Electra's woe. 
 Imbued with Grecian hfe in miniature 
 On vagrant shell. O wondrous cameo! 
 
CATHEDRAL OF MILAN. 
 
 I saw it first, when twilight drew her veil 
 Of misty shadows round the marble spires 
 In weird enchantment. As I gazed, I dreamed 
 Each pinnacle a finger was, that seemed 
 To mark against the purpling sky the trail 
 Of night-awaking stars, whose distant fires 
 Were signaling to the white angels high. 
 Against a background of pale roseate sky 
 The full-orbed moon swung in effulgent light, 
 Turning to silver-grey the robes of Night, 
 And piercing through the flowing tracery 
 Wove on the pave a wondrous tapestry 
 Of moving leaf and flower, of vine and scroll, 
 Out of which grew the pure and perfect whole. 
 
THE STEEDS OF APOLLO. 
 
 The rosy fingers of the Dawn 
 
 Have opened wide the gates of light, 
 And Phoebus in his flaming car 
 
 Is riding 'gainst the hosts of Night. 
 Upward his straining coursers speed 
 
 Till their hoofs smite the empyrean rocks, 
 While backward like a comet streams 
 
 The splendor of his golden locks. 
 
 Then down the dizzy heights they spring, 
 
 No curb to stay their headlong way, 
 The sun-dust of their fearful race 
 
 Rolls o'er the portals of the day. 
 On through the banks of amber clouds 
 
 They pass beyond the daylight-bars, 
 Their footprints on the backward track 
 
 Gleam in the glory of the stars. 
 
IF? 
 
 Were you a blooming hawthorn tree, 
 
 And I a love-lorn linnet, 
 I'd quickly fly, my love, to you. 
 
 Nor v^ould I v^ait a minute. 
 If you w^ere just a hawthorn tree, 
 
 And I a love-lorn linnet. 
 
 Were you a blithesome bird of spring, 
 
 And I a blooming flower, 
 I'd watch, and wait, and wish for you, 
 
 Each moment, minute, hour. 
 If you were just a bird of spring. 
 
 And I a blooming flower. 
 
 But you are now a maiden sweet. 
 
 And I'm a lonesome lover. 
 Perhaps 'tis best you're not a bloom. 
 
 Or I a bird to hover; 
 If you will only be my dear, 
 
 And let me be your lover. 
 
 10 
 
THROUGH A WINDOW. 
 
 Without, the heaven bossed with stars, 
 All checkered by the window-bars 
 
 That stripe with black the yellow moon. 
 
 Within, the dance's rhythmic din 
 Pierced by the wail of violin, 
 
 And ghostly groan of the bassoon. 
 
 Without, the shadow-haunted street, 
 With muffled tread of passing feet. 
 
 Coming, who cares .? — going, who knows ^ 
 
 Within, the flare of candles red. 
 And sickening scent of flowers dead, 
 The poppy and the tuberose. 
 
 Without, the river's cruel swirl, 
 The pallid face, the matted curl. 
 The gurgling breath. 
 
 Within, the arms that cling and twine. 
 The broken glass, the dregs of wine, 
 The kiss of sin and death. 
 
 11 
 
ARISE, MY LOVE. 
 
 Arise, my love, the East is breaking, 
 
 The lark is on the wing. 
 While Phoebus, from his dreams awaking, 
 Takes up his wandering. 
 
 Oh hasten, love, and we'll away 
 To greet the coming of the day. 
 
 In yonder grove the turtle cooing. 
 
 Makes love unto his mate. 
 Come hasten, love, and we'll be wooing, 
 Love to ingratiate 
 
 Ere Morning's dimpled feet shall pass 
 To brush the dew from off the grass. 
 
 Ah, love! I sigh at thy delaying, 
 
 I long thy lips to greet 
 With kisses, all thy gifts repaying, 
 And making joy complete. 
 
 Come, Phyllis fair, and May with me, 
 Nor keep me waiting long for thee. 
 
 12 
 
GHOSTS. 
 
 High in the heavens the crescent moon, 
 
 With one pale satellite, 
 Like phantom ship with silvery sails, 
 
 Ploughs through the purple night; 
 And every breaking wave is tipped 
 
 With phosphorescence bright. 
 
 Between the moaning bar and shore. 
 
 The sea is inky black; 
 Beyond, the scintillating beams 
 
 Of moonlight make a track 
 Down which the waves that fail to climb 
 
 Seem to be falling back. 
 
 The sand-dunes lie like sheeted ghosts 
 
 Along the curving beach; 
 The stunted cedars bend and wave 
 
 Like mutes who strive for speech, 
 Or witches mad, who try in vain 
 
 Each other's throats to reach. 
 
 13 
 
The night- wind moans as in distress; 
 
 Its touch, like spirit hands, 
 Is cold upon the fevered cheek; 
 
 The treacherous quicksands 
 Bind plodding feet as if to hold 
 
 Them fast in prison bands. 
 
 Forebodings fill the troubled mind. 
 
 Was that a form that fled 
 In clay-stained cerements enwrapped, 
 
 And gaping wounds that bled, 
 Uneasy wraith which has escaped 
 
 From mansions of the dead .? 
 
 Ah, yonder stands the old stone kirk. 
 
 All gray with clinging moss. 
 Praise be to Christ, whose sweat of death 
 
 Made good our earthly loss, 
 For on its spire, by moonlight kisst- d. 
 
 Shines out the blessed cross. 
 
 14. 
 
THE DRYAD. 
 
 The dryad calls from out the leafy glade; 
 The drowsy shepherd lad awakes to look, 
 And push aside the branches with his crook, 
 
 To see what creature 'twas the music made. 
 
 And she, all smiling, looks into his eyes 
 From out the verdant veil that intervenes, 
 And half her naked beauty screens 
 
 From his dull wonderment and rapt surprise. 
 
 Swift she to flee, quick he to make pursuit, 
 
 Till panting he o'ertakes the beauteous thing; 
 And while her laughter makes the woodland ring, 
 
 He takes his fill of Love's delicious fruit. 
 
 Forgotten lambs, forgotten bleating kid. 
 Forgotten poverty and earthly cares; 
 He's only mindful of the joy he shares 
 
 With this fond one, within the deep wood hid. 
 
 The flocks unshepherded have sought the fold, 
 The night-birds tune their throats to greet the moon; 
 The crimson West looks like a broad lagoon, 
 
 With cloud-reared, floating islands, bright as gold. 
 
 Love knoweth naught of night or day. 
 
 When fond lips cling and arms are circling walls. 
 
 'Tis only when he hears his Phyllis' calls 
 That Corydon in sorrow steals away. 
 
 15 
 
THE CHERRY TREES. 
 
 Latticed against the April sky, 
 
 Spread twigs on which the new buds lie 
 
 Just where the blooms will tempt the bees, 
 And catch the first warm kiss of Spring 
 As she draws nigh from wandering 
 
 Through the far wold and meadow leas; 
 
 So bud the cherry trees. 
 
 Mid rustUng leaves, filled with the moan 
 Of purling brooks, whose minor tone 
 
 Runs through all nature's rhapsodies, 
 Swing high the nests of mating birds 
 Whose notes of wooing are the words 
 
 Of love told through the centuries; 
 
 So leaf the cherry trees. 
 
 Like fairy hills of driven snows 
 Lit by the sunset's blush of rose, 
 
 Distilling perfume to the breeze; 
 Or like the iridescent comb 
 Of moonlit waves, whose fleeces foam 
 
 The strand of far Hesperides; 
 
 So bloom the cherry trees. 
 
 16 
 
To coral pink from softest green, 
 Then glowing with the ruby's sheen, 
 
 Swaying to blue-bird's melodies 
 In minuet of upper airs, 
 The ripening fruit in loving pairs 
 
 Bows low in graceful courtesies; 
 
 So fruit the cherry trees. 
 
 17 
 
THE ARNO. 
 
 From Falterona flowing forth 
 
 To swell in foaming torrents, 
 The Arno runs in fret and calm 
 On through the heart of Florence; 
 On, on through smiling Tuscany, 
 Into the ever-waiting sea. 
 
 Royal its Apenninian birth 
 
 Among the heights eternal, 
 Nursed mid fair Casentino's vales, 
 Arezzo's blooms supernal, 
 Ere yet with blue Chiana wed 
 And on through Laterina led. 
 
 O beauteous stream! your amber waves 
 
 Are fraught with song and story, 
 Resplendent with the memories 
 Of Tuscan days and glory, 
 
 When you swept through the vineyards green 
 To kiss the garments of your queen. 
 
 may not see your currents run. 
 With this my earthly vision; 
 Your glories like a book that's sealed, 
 Must wait life's last transition. 
 Yet streams in paradise I know. 
 Will seem like thee, O fair Arno! 
 18 
 
THY KISS. 
 
 lips that woo me on 
 Through night to palHd dawn, 
 And then till day has gone, 
 
 No moment miss! 
 Take all my sight from me, 
 Till I no longer see 
 Through all futurity 
 
 Aught but thy kiss. 
 
 For as I kiss the wine 
 From these red lips of thine, 
 Ecstasy half divine 
 
 Fills me with bliss. 
 With thy white arms around. 
 Fast to thy bosom bound 
 
 1 lose all sight and sound, 
 
 All save thy kiss. 
 
 Ah, my enraptured one. 
 Look for no moon, no sun 
 By night or day high hung 
 
 With light like this. 
 Flame that consumeth me! 
 I share my light with thee 
 And through eternity 
 
 Dream of thy kiss. 
 
 19 
 
THE DANCER. 
 
 Bare limbed, with flowing drapery, 
 She danced in bacchic ecstasy, 
 A thing of grace. 
 
 The golden hair in fillet bound, 
 Shone like a halo floating round 
 Her upturned face. 
 
 So dryads danced in ancient days 
 Along the forest's sunlit ways 
 And by the streams. 
 
 And Pan his pipes in ardor blew, 
 And from the reeds a music drew 
 As sweet as dreams. 
 
 While grinning fauns, from covert screen. 
 Gazed through the trembling laurel green 
 And cypress boles 
 
 Upon the charms of limb and breast. 
 By every wanton breeze caressed, 
 Through floating folds. 
 
 20 
 
By magic did the scene unfold 
 From Grecian vase or pictured scroll 
 With naught denied ? 
 
 Or did I see in all her moods 
 The fabled dryad of the woods, 
 All wonder-eyed ? 
 
 Si 
 
TO HELEN OF TROY. 
 
 Here's to thee, O white-armed Helen! 
 
 Would this wine were Lesbian wine 
 Mingled in a bowl of ivory, 
 
 Partly spilled, to gods divine. 
 At my soul the past is knocking, 
 
 As a drummer beats a drum. 
 And it's waking to the cadence 
 
 Of immortal Ilium. 
 
 Were I now in far Laconia, 
 
 I would seek thy ruined shrine 
 And pour a rare libation 
 
 To thy human form, divine; 
 Fair-haired wife of Menelaus, 
 
 Bride of Priam's god-like son, 
 Held by Trojan pride and courage 
 
 Till by Grecian valor won. 
 
 *Twas for thee that Ilium perished 
 
 'Mong the nations of the earth; 
 'Twas through thee that Agamemnon 
 
 Won for Argos fame and worth; 
 But for thee, high-breasted Helen, 
 
 Old blind Homer's Hps were dumb; 
 So I drink, O queen of women! 
 
 Drink to thee and Ilium. 
 
AUTUMN DAYS. 
 
 The boys and girls are singing 
 
 As they gather in the hops, 
 The bumble-bees are buzzing 
 
 Round the swaying clover tops, 
 The whistle of the bob-white 
 
 Seems to be a bit forlorn, 
 In its blending with the rustle 
 
 Of the wind amid the corn. 
 
 The brown thrush in the orchard. 
 
 Where the red-cheeked apples hang, 
 Is holding a rehearsal 
 
 Of the sweetest songs he sang 
 Since the first fond note he uttered 
 
 In the growing of unrest, 
 When like a leaf he fluttered 
 
 From the dear but crowded nest. 
 
 The. grapes are growing purple 
 
 Where they're hanging on the vines; 
 
 The golden wheat is waving 
 
 Where the farmer reaps and binds; 
 
 S3 
 
The brooklet loudly murmurs 
 As it sweeps in haste along, 
 
 And adds its rippling music 
 To the fair hop-picker's song. 
 
 The melody and color 
 
 Of the amber autumn days, 
 From the far and purple mountains 
 
 To the phantom silvery haze 
 That hovers o'er the rivers, 
 
 Leads one up to the belief 
 That Nature's really blushing 
 
 In the tcarlet of the leaf. 
 
BAY OF NAPLES. 
 
 The red sun, flaming through the rifts 
 
 Of distant purple mountains, 
 Pours floods of gold mist softly down 
 As from celestial fountains, 
 
 Which rolling o'er the azure sea 
 Pales it to rare chalcedony. 
 
 Beneath the sky the waters lie 
 
 Calm in the glow of even. 
 Reflecting all the colors back. 
 Till one asks, which is heaven ? 
 
 The villaed rocks, umber and green, 
 Seem floating in the air between. 
 
 Close to her breast, like jewels pressed, 
 
 Her siren isles are smiling: 
 Mid changing blues bright Ischia woos, 
 And Capri fair, beguiling, 
 
 Calls to us on the crescent shore, 
 To love, to worship and adore. 
 
 25 
 
Across the bay from far away, 
 p The fishers' barks returning, 
 Shine in the light, some snowy white, 
 And some like cressets burning. 
 While over iiEtna, hues of rose 
 Suffuse the sky as shadows close. 
 
 The silver moon takes up the chase 
 ; As in the ancient story, 
 And Hghts again the radiant scene 
 With her effulgent glory. 
 
 While lips of lovers softly sigh 
 
 "Addio, bella NapoH." 
 
PHILOMEL. 
 
 I. 
 
 The sunset gilds the temple frieze 
 Beyond the sombre cypress trees, 
 While through the gentle perfumed breeze 
 The bleating flocks come home. 
 
 The shepherd's evening song is heard, 
 Mingled with tramp of lowing herd. 
 And forest tenants, plumed and furred. 
 Move through the gathering gloam. 
 
 Far in the wood the nightingale. 
 Unto the moon, that seems to sail 
 Up through the heavens, tells her tale 
 Of hapless Philomel. 
 
 So sad, it makes the dryads weep; 
 And fairies, waking from their sleep, 
 Forget their lovers' tryst to keep 
 In bowers of asphodel. 
 
II. 
 
 And I, who walked the woodland way, 
 Remembered well the nest of clay 
 Wherein her sister Procne lay, 
 Beneath the shepherd's eaves. 
 
 And once be-thought me in my walk, 
 I saw the sickle-winged hawk 
 Untiringly the swallow stalk. 
 Amid the shadowy sheaves. 
 
 And as I heard the bird complain. 
 My Hps, on which the seal of pain 
 Had long been set, were freed again; 
 My palsied tongue found word. 
 
 And though my sorrowing plaint was brief, 
 It seemed to bring my soul relief; 
 It lightened it to share its grief. 
 If only with a bird. 
 
 28 
 
THE FAIR JEHANE. 
 
 "I am a pilgrim, maid Jehane, 
 From Holy Land, I be." 
 
 "If you know aught of Sir Gaston, 
 
 I pray you tell it me.'* 
 
 "I know Sir Gaston well, Jehane, 
 His prowess in chivalrye." 
 
 "With him away, my gallant knight, 
 
 The days drag wearilye." 
 
 "He does not love you, fair Jehane, 
 I know for certaintye." 
 
 "I deem you are mistaken, sir, 
 
 I know his loyaltye." 
 
 "He is not true to you, Jehane, 
 He's all inconstancye." 
 
 "Why, here I have his ring of troth — 
 
 Of his fidelitye." 
 
 "But he has gone away, Jehane, 
 And stays far o'er the sea." 
 
 "Only to save Christ's sepulchre, 
 
 From Pagan infamye." 
 
 29 
 
"He will not marry you, Jehane, 
 I make the prophecye." 
 
 "We have been married now, good sir, 
 
 A year past yesterdaye." 
 
 "But I love you myself, Jehane, 
 And I have wealth in fee." 
 
 "And I have but this slender blade, 
 
 'Sdeath! I give it thee." 
 
 "Oh! You have killed me quite, Jehane. 
 I am thy husband! See!" 
 
 "Ah! Then this dagger does for both, 
 
 We'll die in companye." 
 
 Oh woeful tale of fair Jehane, 
 
 And her tried constancye. 
 
 May Christ forgive her and absolve — 
 
 Who died upon the tree. 
 
ISADORA— ISABELLA. 
 
 Isadora of Brabant 
 
 Was my love when I was young. 
 I, alas! was no gallant, 
 
 Spite of that, her praise I sung; 
 Happy in each smile she'd grant, 
 
 I was hers and she was mine. 
 
 Thorns and roses do combine, 
 Though I like the former scant. 
 Isadora of Brabant 
 
 Was my love when I was young. 
 
 Isabella of Castile 
 
 Was my love when I was young. 
 All the love I would conceal 
 
 Quickly from my lips she wrung 
 In the heat of lover's zeal. 
 
 Daughter she of haughty Don 
 
 Wived to Ann of Aragon. 
 To her memory now I kneel; 
 Isabella of Castile 
 
 Was my love when I was young 
 
 Isadora of Brabant, 
 
 Fairer than the morning light; 
 Isabella of Castile, 
 
 Darker than the starlit night, 
 SI 
 
Flemish lily, dew pendant, 
 Spanish poppy, rich in hue, 
 Yet, alas! I never knew, 
 Though on their charms I did descant, 
 Where I loved best, in Brabant 
 Or Castile, with most delight. 
 
 I no burgher am, I trow. 
 
 Prone to ale, e'en to abuse, 
 Less a son of Spain, although 
 Given to wine of Andaluse; 
 Yet to beauty bend I low. 
 
 Flaxen haired or ebon curled. 
 
 I, a traveler o'er the world. 
 Picked these twain from all I know, 
 
 Loved or not, nor make excuse. 
 
 Pilgrim in the Holy Land, 
 
 Penitent beside the shrine: 
 Wanderer through the desert sand. 
 
 Dweller by the castled Rhine; 
 I have woman's features scanned 
 
 For but one to match with these, 
 
 But the task which seemed as ease, 
 Is not accomplished as I planned. 
 Only power of magic wand 
 
 Could the charms of such combine. 
 
 S2 
 
THE FAUN. 
 
 Deep in a recess of the wood, 
 Behind a leafy screen I stood 
 
 In love forlorn, 
 And saw amid the boughs appear 
 A slanting eye, a hairy ear, 
 
 A pointed horn. 
 
 I held my breath for fear the thing 
 Would hear it too, and, vanishing 
 
 From sight, be gone 
 Ere I the truth could realize. 
 That I had seen with open eyes, 
 
 A very Faun. 
 
 Then from the brook that near him crept 
 O'er mossy stones, a creature stept, 
 
 And smiling stood, 
 With woman's form and beauty rare, 
 Clothed in the splendor of her hair: 
 
 A dryad of the wood. 
 
 Prone on the grass beneath the trees. 
 The young Faun threw himself at ease, 
 His pipes unstrung. 
 
 33 
 
And 'neath the notes that seemed entranced, 
 Before him there the dryad danced, 
 The flowers among. 
 
 Like lily swaying in the breeze, 
 
 Like shadows darting through the trees 
 
 Before the sun, 
 She marked the time with perfect grace, 
 And bent on him her smiling face 
 
 As round she spun. 
 
 Then light as thistle-down she sank 
 Beside the young Faun on the bank, 
 
 In amorous ease. 
 As in his arms her form he pressed. 
 The blushing sun slid down the West 
 
 Behind the trees. 
 
 S£ 
 
AMONG MY BOOKS. 
 
 When I sit among my books 
 At the quiet end of day, 
 Come to me as in a dream, 
 Tales of Francois Rabelais. 
 All his romance lives again, 
 Fraught with glamour of Touraine. 
 
 Their dim titles, quaint and old. 
 Brightening in the sunset ray. 
 Seem to beckon, I arise, 
 
 But Lucretius bids me stay. 
 Back I sink into my chair 
 Held as if by magic there. 
 
 How I fondle many a tome, 
 
 Clothed in leather — russet-brown, 
 All embossed and richly tooled 
 By old masters of renown : 
 Aldus Manutius, and Grolier. 
 On their title-leaves appear 
 
 35 
 
Many names by scholars prized, 
 
 That the world doth scarcely know. 
 Others are our household words, 
 Dante and Boccaccio, 
 Or the mystic Golden Ass, 
 Of long dead Apuleius. 
 
 Mould of cloisters to them clings, 
 
 Perfume of some chatelaine; 
 Phantoms of the flowers pressed — 
 Stars where tears have left a stain; 
 Mist of mountains, dew of vales, 
 Whispering of hidden tales. 
 
 Here a dusty parchment scroll. 
 
 There an ancient palimpsest. 
 With a missal all illumed, 
 
 And a glowing jewelled crest; 
 Now a tome with clasp and chain 
 Never to be slave again. 
 
 When I sit among my books. 
 
 At the quiet end of day. 
 Come to me as in a dream. 
 Tales of Francois Rabelais. 
 All his romance lives again. 
 Fraught with glamour of Touraine. 
 
 36 
 
THE NAUTCH GIRL. 
 
 With no raiment bedight 
 As she moves in the nautch, 
 As she gleams on the sight 
 Through the stillness of night 
 By the flickering hght 
 Of a yellow-flamed torch; 
 
 'Twixt her form and the sight 
 There is only the sheen 
 Of her jewels, so bright 
 With their red glow and green, 
 
 That one's vision they scorch. 
 
 With a crown on her head 
 Like an idol of old. 
 And her bosoms close wed 
 With a ruby blood-red; 
 The rhythmical tread 
 Of her feet on the mould, 
 
 Like a melody fled. 
 Haunts the mind, or the dream 
 Of a lotus-bloom fed 
 By the mists of the stream 
 
 And the sunbeams of gold. 
 
 37 
 
With sinuous y-race 
 Like a lily she sways, 
 And the pride of her race 
 That no care can erase 
 Shining forth from her face. 
 The torchhght that plays 
 
 Like a spirit in chase 
 Of another that flies 
 Through the infinite space, 
 From the light of her eyes 
 
 Borrows sentient rays. 
 
 The o'erarching sky, 
 Like a limpid lagoon 
 Where the star islands lie, 
 Seems transparent and nigh. 
 Through the cypress trees high. 
 We can see the pale moon 
 
 Like a ship sailing by; 
 And we drink in the whole 
 With the amorous sigh 
 Of a love-sated soul 
 
 In ecstasy's swoon. 
 
 38 
 
THE KINGS OF MUNSTER. 
 
 The Kings of Munster, 
 They were the ones to 
 
 Fight for Erin 
 
 Through woe or weal. 
 In knightly splendor 
 They did defend her 
 
 By deeds of valor — 
 
 With hearts of steel. 
 
 Through bout and wassail, 
 In Tara's castle 
 
 They lived and loved 
 
 The long years through; 
 Save when the sighting 
 Of Danes brought fighting, 
 
 And victory won 
 
 Them peace anew. 
 
 There in the great hall 
 They sat in state all, 
 
 When winter came 
 
 And bleak winds blew; 
 While foaming beakers 
 Awaited seekers, 
 
 And up the chimney 
 
 The red flames flew. 
 
 39 
 
Neath steaming cauldron, 
 The big logs, hauled on 
 
 By straining churls, 
 
 Burned bright and fast; 
 While scent of roasting, 
 Of boil and toasting, 
 
 Told of the feast 
 
 To come at last. 
 
 Then minstrels stringing 
 Their harps, and singing 
 
 Their stirring songs, 
 
 Of lord and dame. 
 Wove through the story 
 Of Celtic glory. 
 
 The pride and splendor 
 
 Of Erin's name. 
 
 Dear Erin weeping. 
 Thy vigils keeping 
 
 For days returning, 
 
 Long dead to you! 
 With dreams you cherished 
 Your kings have perished, 
 
 Munster forgets 
 
 Brian Boru. 
 
 40 
 
TEMPEST AND CALM. 
 
 The wind came down through forest ways, 
 
 Like rush of Cossack horde; 
 The lightning gleamed above the boughs, 
 As gleams a swinging sword; 
 
 The thunder-drums of heaven rolled, 
 While whirling rain-clouds, fold on fold. 
 Shook out their waters cold. 
 
 The forest ways were dark as night, 
 
 The coppice darker yet; 
 The tree trunks stood in hurtling rain, 
 Like tree trunks cut from jet; 
 
 The gaunt wolf crouching in his lair 
 Snapped at the sudden gusts of air. 
 At phantom dangers lurking there. 
 
 Then all was still. In breath-drawn hush 
 
 The tempest halting stood; 
 A mighty wall of wind upreared 
 And fell upon the wood. 
 
 Shrieking as if they were in pain. 
 The hoary monarchs bowed again 
 To storm's relentless rain. 
 
 41 
 
Again the brow of heaven was seared 
 
 With nature's bHnding flash; 
 The giant of the mighty wood 
 Fell with a mortal gash; 
 
 Mid pandemonium's wildest sound 
 His fellows stood in awe around 
 The monarch on the ground. 
 
 Then over all a sound like hoofs 
 When phantom huntsmen ride, 
 Or grim Attila's spectral hordes 
 Flee up the mountain side. 
 
 The dust of rain came rolling back 
 Along the conquering tempest's track, 
 Across the ruin's wrack. 
 
 Then forth as from the curtain drawn 
 
 Of heaven's o'erreaching tent, 
 The sun appeared in armor bright 
 With glowing shield argent; 
 
 'Neath cloud-lit banners wide unfurled 
 He o'er the stricken, panting world 
 His jeweled javelins hurled. 
 
 A flood of light fell on the wood 
 With Hght's melodious sound; 
 The daisied meadows smoothed their robes, 
 The mountains set their crowns; 
 
 Again the trees their branches tossed 
 O'er shallow pools all ferned and mossed, 
 And streams in caverns lost. 
 
 43 
 
The birds returned to swaying boughs, 
 
 Their joyful throats attune, 
 Fair flowers decked the meads and vales 
 With richest hues of June; 
 Against the heavens, arching vast, 
 The sun its bow of promise cast; — 
 The ruthless storm had passed. 
 
OFF CIRCE'S ISLE. 
 
 Then the storm shrank at the dawning, 
 
 And the crested sea grew red 
 Like a savage creature fawning 
 Low before its master's warning; 
 The tempest, from the morning 
 
 In its terror shrieked and fled, 
 Fled amid the echoing laughter 
 Of the shades that followed after, 
 
 Like a trooping of the dead. 
 
 O'er the dark sea they went sailing 
 
 In the black and hollow ship. 
 Through the shrouds the wind was wailing; 
 Far behind a wake was trailing, 
 Made by silvery bubbles, paling 
 
 'Gainst the beak and rudder-lip; 
 Kissed by prow and spurned by rudder, 
 White as milk from sea-cow's udder 
 
 That the hungry sea-calves sip. 
 
 And the banks of rowers shifting 
 To the swelling muscle strain, 
 All the dripping oars were lifting. 
 As if they rare pearls were sifting 
 
 44 
 
In the light from sea caves drifting 
 Upward through the surging main. 
 
 Then there came a sound Hke dirges 
 
 High above the roaring surges, 
 In a ceaseless, sad refrain: 
 
 " Not for thee, O great Ulysses ! 
 
 Is the fate, by Neptune planned; 
 Though around thee each wave hisses, 
 Thy great self his vengeance misses, 
 Sailing on to Circe's kisses 
 
 In a fair and pleasant land. 
 There, her white arms round thee gleaming, 
 Days shall pass in love and dreaming. 
 
 While the hours round thee stand. " 
 
 "Now before thee ^aea's lying 
 
 Like an island of the blest. 
 To her bower go thou, hieing 
 Where sweet lips frame no denying 
 To the love thine own are sighing, 
 f On her couch of joy and rest. 
 Of her wild beasts have no fearing 
 When they in their hate uprearing 
 
 Place their paws upon thy breast." 
 
 "For with thee her magic's harmless; 
 
 There's no virtue in her wand. 
 And the web she weaves is charmless. 
 Other victims, bound and armless, 
 
 45 
 
Of her wounds may suffer balmless; 
 
 But for thee the only bond 
 Is the bond that Love is weaving, 
 And with her must be the grieving 
 
 Of a heart that's overfond. " 
 
 Then the voices died in distance, 
 
 And the turbulent dark sea 
 Seemed to offer no resistance 
 To the rowers' stern insistence. 
 And the firm, god-like persistence 
 In a course that needs must be. 
 Then the tall ship onward bore them. 
 Till the hallowed night came o'er them, 
 And they anchored, while before them 
 Lay the weird futurity. 
 
 46 
 
KISMET. 
 
 He was a knight of great renown, 
 
 While I was a poor esquire; 
 He fought in the fore at Agincourt 
 
 And I by his side was there; 
 He slew a score with his trusty lance, 
 
 I saw his prowess as in a trance, 
 For I was but a poor esquire 
 
 And he was a peer of France. 
 
 And yet we loved the selfsame one, 
 
 A lady of high degree; 
 The King had named her for his bride, 
 
 The same Love did for me. 
 When brave King Henry won the field, 
 
 My lord he fell, I would not yield, 
 I seized his sword and fought alone 
 
 Behind his blazoned shield. 
 
 The threefold lilies in argent set. 
 
 Were redder than the sun 
 That hangs in the sky of Brittany, 
 
 Ere the autumn days are done; 
 
 47 
 
The sword was nicked and ran with blood, 
 All flecked with foam like a wintry flood, 
 
 While many a corpse low at my feet 
 Was trampled in the mud. 
 
 "Vive le roi!" I cried and smote, 
 
 My muscles grew as steel; 
 The English girt me round as a wall, 
 
 Their hot breaths I could feel; 
 Like a flail of fate my good sword fell, 
 
 And I fought like a demon chained in hell. 
 Till all around me it grew as night, 
 
 And I sank in a fainting spell. 
 
 When fortune opened mine eyes again 
 
 I lay in a silken tent. 
 'Twas the lady's face so well beloved 
 
 That over mine own was bent; 
 While the monarchs stood at the open door. 
 
 Mouthing my deeds of valor o'er, 
 And the lady lisped with smiling face, 
 
 "That I was her knight forevermore. " 
 
 My lord who fell — peace to his soul — ■ 
 
 Was the last of a noble race; 
 The King when he knighted me with sword 
 
 Said, "You shall fill his place, 
 The shield he carried, you shall bear; 
 
 May the argent lilies blooming there 
 Never be tarnished save by blood 
 
 Of our foes, while in your care. " 
 
 48 
 
He was a knight of great renown, 
 
 While I was a poor esquire; 
 We fought together at Agincourt, 
 
 And the Sisters of Fate were there. 
 He fought Hke a god mid the gay gallants, 
 
 He fell 'neath a thrust of Henry's lance; 
 Now I, by his gracious favor, am 
 
 A knight and peer of France. 
 
 49 
 
THE COURT OF ALHAMAR. 
 
 In the palace of the Moor 
 Once I stayed till closed door 
 Made me prisoner. O'er the floor 
 
 Shadows crept in blotch and bar. 
 In that stillness as of death, 
 Fearfully I held my breath, 
 Prayed to Christ of Nazareth, 
 
 From the court of Alhamar. 
 
 Twisted columns round me stood. 
 Arched by domes of sandal-wood. 
 Through whose arabesques I could 
 
 See the twinkle of a star. 
 Mirrored bright and fanciful, 
 Deep within the waters cool 
 Of the marble-circled pool. 
 
 In the court of Alhamar. 
 
 While without, the evening breeze 
 Sang among the olive trees 
 Songs like dreamland litanies. 
 
 And the crescent moon afar 
 Lit the clinging robes of Night 
 With a pearly, silvery light. 
 Made the checkered pavement bright. 
 
 In the court of Alhamar. 
 
 50 
 
Then a something seemed to creep 
 O'er me, and I fell asleep, 
 Into slumber long and deep; 
 
 And I saw, as from afar, 
 Visions of another day 
 When the Sultan there held sway, 
 Lord of Andalusia, 
 
 In the court of Alhamar. 
 
 From the river far below, 
 
 Through the night the torches glow, 
 
 As the turbaned warriors go 
 
 On mincing mule or prancing mare, 
 By the rose and myrtle bowers — 
 Paths bedight with palms and flowers, 
 To the frowning vermeil towers 
 
 And the court of Alhamar. 
 
 Women chanting low and sweet. 
 From the portals throng to meet 
 The cavalcade, with dancing feet. 
 
 Culverin, and wild fanfare 
 Of brazen trumpet, from the walls 
 Through the night a welcome calls. 
 With echoes filling all the halls 
 
 In the court of Alhamar. 
 
 Over all the cymbals clang, 
 Through it all the harp strings twang. 
 On the moonlit pavement rang 
 Sandal-foot and scimitar. 
 
 51 
 
Rattling drums and tambourine, 
 Fluttering banners, black and green, 
 Blended in the gorgeous scene 
 At the court of Alhamar. 
 
 As the tinkling fountains played, 
 Forth there came a beauteous maid 
 In the lighest robes arrayed; 
 
 Danced to lute and dulcimer; 
 Spun on toe and waved her hand 
 While the breeze her garments fanned, 
 Danced the Moorish saraband 
 
 In the court of Alhamar. 
 
 Then as if a flaming dart 
 Pierced the center of my heart, 
 I awakened with a start; 
 
 Waked and heard a light guitar. 
 Tuned to words of serenade 
 By some ardent lover made, 
 Floating from the laurel shade 
 
 Through the court of Alhamar. 
 
 Then the Night fled with her cares. 
 Through the ambient morning airs 
 Fell the muezzin's call to praj/ers; 
 
 And the sun in splendor rare 
 Upward sailed on azure seas 
 O'er the snow-capped Pyrenees, 
 Lighting up the cypress trees 
 
 And the court of Alhamar. 
 
THE SIRENS. 
 
 Over the wine-dark sea 
 
 Drifted the hollow ship; 
 Each sluggish wave that met the prow 
 
 Kissed it with pallid lip. 
 Then fell a witching calm, 
 
 The sails clung to the mast, 
 And perfume sweet as balm 
 
 O'er all the deep was cast. 
 
 Before the waking dawn 
 
 The haunting shadows fled 
 Out from the keel-cut sea 
 
 To seas unharvested. 
 The sun pearled every comb 
 
 Of the curling beach-caught waves; 
 And strains from wind-kissed shell 
 
 Stole out from tide-washed caves. 
 
 Up from the flowery meads 
 
 Enchanting music rolled. 
 As rich and strong as wine 
 
 To revelers uncontrolled. 
 Ah! fair the sirens seemed 
 
 To eyes of ship-lost men, 
 Their souls filled to eternity 
 
 By joys that once had been. 
 53 
 
As honey sweet their words, 
 
 Like wine their melody 
 Of longing, passion, love. 
 
 Of endless ecstasy. 
 From wooing lips they fell. 
 
 While white hands beckoned near; 
 Could mortals pass the Siren's call, 
 
 "Come rest and slumber here ?" 
 
 "Oh, sailor, here is rest. 
 
 Here endless joy and bliss; 
 Come lie upon this breast. 
 
 These lips are lips unkissed. 
 Thy soul shall pleasure know 
 
 In arms that never tire. 
 Warmed by the sacred glow 
 
 Of Love's eternal fire. 
 
 "Here in the cooling shade 
 
 Where perfumed fountains play 
 Mid flowers that never fade 
 
 We'll while the hours away. 
 The loving-cup I'll fill 
 
 While you the nectar sip. 
 Ambrosia I'll distil 
 
 To tempt thine eager lip. 
 
 "And when the shadows ride 
 
 Athwart the bending sky, 
 On rose-leaves at thy side 
 
 I through the night will lie, 
 
 54 
 
And kiss thine eyes awake 
 
 Ere rosy-fingered Morn 
 Her golden bells shall shake 
 
 To rouse Hyperion. 
 
 "Through meads of asphodel 
 
 Or by the purling brook, 
 Old tales of love I'll tell, 
 
 While in its depths we'll look; 
 Or Hsten to the birds 
 
 Whose wondrous minstrelsy 
 By glade and grove is heard, 
 
 Oh, sailor, come to me. " 
 
 Over the wine-dark deep 
 
 Echoed the Siren's song; 
 The black and hollow ship. 
 
 Enchanted, sailed along. 
 The silver paddles churned 
 
 The green sea-waves to foam, 
 But the rowers never turned 
 
 From toil and thoughts of home. 
 
 55 
 
APR 20 191 1 
 
One copy del. to Cat. Div, 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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